


a monarch fell

by thethrillof



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Underfell Asgore Dreemurr, Underfell Sans, underfell alphys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 19:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15150290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethrillof/pseuds/thethrillof
Summary: In an underground built on the idea of kill-or-be-killed, a human child fells the King.The consequences are not what they expected.Namely: the crown.(UNDERFELL)





	a monarch fell

_The King is dead. Long live the--_

Dust.

Again.

Four times, they’ve won, and four times, Asgore’s fallen to their knife.

They’ve lost a lot too, of course, just trying to _talk._ They’ve been fighting him for…a long time. Maybe three days of tries, interspersed with fitful naps when they stole from outside the throne room and found a place to hide for a few hours. The sleep didn’t help their body any more than a SAVE point did, but their reflexes seemed better after. It was worth it.

The first two times, they immediately went to their last SAVE. The third, they dared walk around the pile of dust to the SOUL containers, putting their palms on the glass of every one first.

This time, they don’t do anything.

There’s no extra LOVE in them, and there’s no love in them either right now, despite Sans’ comments in the hall behind them.

(“you reminded me–a lot of our kind–of what we thought was lost, and you kept yours. love, not LOVE,” he’d said, the corners of his seemingly-permanent smile flat. He didn’t seem angry, or sarcastic, or even happy. Just lost.)

Despite everything, Frisk doesn’t want to kill any monsters. It’s a whole mountain full of suffering creatures, and putting them down isn’t a MERCY, even if Flowey tried to insist as much.

 _He_ hasn’t been bothering them since they got through Hotland, at least. Unless he got caught between Mettaton and them, and he’s dead anyway. They guess they’ll find out after they figure out Asgore, and if they figure out Asgore, they can figure out how to save Flowey if it turns out he does need it. Maybe he just gave up on trying to make them give up. Maybe he’s watching them right now, somewhere in the snarls of plants in the throne room. It’s not a garden, though they’re sure it must’ve been one ones upon a time; parts of it are decently tended to and growing--a lot nearest to the throne--and most of it are just masses of choking weeds and dirt. There were lots of little spaces for a little yellow flower to hide, if he wasn’t too afraid--

Frisk’s thoughts cut off with the sound of footsteps. They’ve been waiting for longer than they’ve tried before, lost in thought and staring at what’s left of the Monster King.

Curiosity keeps them from another LOAD. They turn instead, expecting… expecting…?

They aren’t sure. Sans was nearest, but he broke out in a horrible sweat when anyone mentioned Asgore's name, so probably not him.

Of course,  they’re right. It’s not.  

It’s _Alphys._

…Alphys doesn’t like them.

None of the monsters started out liking them, but they convinced most. The ones they didn’t, they at least managed to scare away or make pause so they could run away instead.

Alphys, she was different. Frisk barely got to meet her face-to-face before she left, and she was laughing and jeering over Mettaton’s intercom the whole time they were dealing with him--until his new body, anyway, when that part broke. (They think Mettaton broke it on purpose, if they’re honest. They didn’t get the chance to ask.)

They saw her once after that, staring at them with…a look. They couldn’t be sure what it was since her swirly glasses hid her eyes, but her teeth were gritted, and then she was gone again too, down a hallway and behind a door she locked behind her. She ignored all their knocking, even when they spent 15 minutes straight doing it.

They suppose their expression sort of matches the one she’s wearing now, though. Her mouth’s dropped open, and her eyes are wide too–they can tell now that her glasses slid down the bridge of her snout.

There’s a silence.

It’s awkward.

Frisk breaks it by saying hi.

Alphys doesn’t leave or scream, like they’re prepared for.

“Your Majesty,” she chokes out, collapsing to her knees.

Frisk is too exhausted to think about what they’re doing. They shuffle to the side, away from Asgore’s dust, so they’re not blocking it or her path. He was so stubborn, they say. He was strong, and they apologize.

Alphys stares at the dust, and stares at them, and she shuffles to she’s facing them instead of the pile instead, working her mouth.

“Y-y-your Majesty,” she says again.

An alarm bell starts ringing in the back of Frisk’s head.

They make a noise that she interprets as a question, or an order to keep going, and she does.

“Th-the–the l-law-laws of–of This Great Kingdom s-s-state--” and this is around the time Frisk realizes that the layers of emotion in her voice aren’t grief, but _terror_ “--tha-that the…a-anyone one pow-powerful e-enough to k-k…to kill the King–are–are to be m-m-made King, o-or Queen, o-o-o-or--”

 *** Monarch,** supplies their sort-of-guide, and Frisk repeats it blankly.

Alphys nods frantically. “Y-y-yes, your Majesty. Yo-you a-are n-now the M-Monarch o-of This G-Great K-Kingdom, a-and…a-a-and…”

Frisk informs her that’s a bad rule, and that they’re a kid, and maybe that’s not a good idea? But all that does is make her cower harder, apologizing frantically.

It’s…unreal. Just as unreal as when they fell and met Toriel, with her rough hands and angry weeping and good food regardless.

They ask Alphys why she’s scared, and they don’t get an answer, just a strangled laugh she immediately cuts off by clapping her hands over her mouth.

“I-I-I’ll,” she swallows hard, “m-make preperations?”

They ask what those are, since she doesn’t sound sure herself, and they don’t get an answer to that either. She finally breaks and flees like they’re going to hurl fireblasts at her tail if she’s not fast enough--Asgore did that, they think, since there are scorch marks all over the castle floors already, and one of the coats in her closet was half burned to cinders. They’d suspected bad experiments at the time.

Frisk stares after her until the sounds of her footsteps fade away, and then stare down at the dust pile, and their knife.

…

That’s a really bad rule. They know they’re smart and they can be tough, but…

…

…

…can they really do worse than Asgore did?

 

Well. They…might as well try to find out what Alphys is going to be doing. Maybe they can figure out how to be her friend. Before they go back for another try against the King.

Frisk breathes in, forces themselves not to cough at the dust that swirls into their lungs, and heads back out of the castle.


End file.
